The Lake
by liliumweiss
Summary: "You've always heard that dark elves are cruel and emotionless beings, who view everyone else beneath them, and thrive off the pain of others. However, viewing the tall attractive dark elf before you, and watching them stammer apologies and cover their flustered face, after having accidentally come across you skinny dipping, you cant help but think its all a huge pile of bullshit."


**I'm warning you, this is all hollyethecurious ' fault! She tagged me on this prompt by write-it-motherfuckers and DARK ELVES? Hell yes. Honestly, I don't think this is exactly what the prompt suggests, but eh, the muse wanted to write this.**

**Also, I finally got the chance to write about a lake: I saw an opportunity and I TOOK IT MUAHAHAHA**

**Aehm. Enjoy :3**

**And if you want, visit me on tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm ;)**

When her toes first touch the water, she feels as if thousands of tiny icy needles have penetrated her skin.

Emma draws in a long breath, teeth digging into her lower lip as if it'll help her bracing for the cold. She knows she's going to get used to it, though it's the first time she's dared taking all her clothes off.

The lake is her secret place, too deep inside the forest for people to know about it, but away enough from the shadows for her to be in danger.

She should've known nothing is ever as one believes.

A whimper leaves her mouth when the water reaches her upper thighs, so near her sensitive center.

Another deep breath takes her forward, water lapping at her stomach, the cold sensation making her rosy nipples harden.

Beneath her feet, the pebbles are slippery enough to make her feel as if she's about to lose her balance. That may be the tremor in her legs that threatens to take her underwater with every step.

Emma hisses when the water grazes the underside of her breasts, tongue running over her almost bleeding lower lip when she's almost completely submerged, blonde tresses darkening and staying afloat, curling above the surface like tentacles.

The third deep breath takes her underwater completely.

The underwater realm, one Emma doesn't know very well because there's no way her mother parts from the bracelet allowing her to turn into a mermaid, not even to let Emma experience the sight of the abysses, is wonderful even if limited to the lake, with just a few common fishes swimming so far away from her she almost pouts. She definitely does.

Her afternoon, one miraculously free from duties and councils and balls, is spent swimming, exploring, training her breathing so she can stay underwater longer. She never wants it to end, but when she sees the sky slowly turn a faint shade of orange, Emma sighs.

Just a little longer, she tells herself, spread like a starfish on the surface, eyes trained to the celestial vault where stars are starting to appear, even if faintly.

The clear sound of a twig snapping makes her gasp and pull her body underwater, frantically looking around her.

«Bloody hell,» she hears, head snapping towards a dark patch of trees, towards the shadows. It's there that she sees a tall figure, long leather coat swinging in the air as the person, the man turns around, hands clearly covering his eyes. «I-I'm so sorry, love.»

Emma blinks, disbelief crossing her features. Unless her eyes aren't cheated by a spell, the person, no, creature is an elf, the pointed ears she can see coming out from under his raven hair a dead giveaway.

His attitude, though, is nothing like the stories she heard, stories whispered in fear of being heard, legends and myths saying that dark elves are cruel, twisted beings incapable of any emotion unless it's delight as they thrive off the pain of others.

This elf, though, is nothing like the legends.

(Oh, he is, and Emma will discover that in time, just as she'll discover said dark elf has a moral code.)

«Who are you?»

«Killian Jones,» he replies in a hurry, «b-but we can talk once you've covered yourself, lass. The Princess of Misthaven shouldn't-»

Emma grits her teeth. «The Princess of Misthaven doesn't want someone to tell her what she must or should do.»

She may not see him sigh, but she sees how his shoulder deflate. «Fair enough. I just want to preserve your dignity.»

Her blonde eyebrows are high on her forehead, now. «Then why don't you leave?»

His chuckle has shivers run down her spine, the low laugh dark and sensual, just like she feels he is. «You are the one who trespassed, love.» Even if he can't see her knitted brows, the elf goes on: «You believed the lake was in your kingdom, didn't you?»

There's a smile in his voice, Emma can sense it, and she doesn't like it, it makes her feel as if the stories are true. It scares her, yet, at the same time Killian Jones doesn't. How it can be possible, she does not know.

His words are not fast to sink in, their meaning one she's slow to comprehend. Once she does, a quiet gasp leaves her throat, her feet instinctively kicking her back, far away from the dark elf.

Sure, borders aren't exactly traced, but on every map the lake belongs to Misthaven, how can it-

Emma sucks in a breath, eyes suddenly widening in horror. «This is the neutral zone everyone talked about.» The very one everyone warned you to stay away from.

«Indeed.» It's more of a mutter, and for a moment she has the strange feeling deep in her belly that the same warnings applied to him. Until now. Why dark elves needed such warnings, she has no idea. «I advise you go back to the castle before nightfall, Princess. My kin is just, but the temptation of claiming your body can lead the most uptight of them astray.»

Emma scoffs, water rippling around her chin. «Of course I would be to blame.»

«Nay, love,» Killian shakes his head, «their desire to possess you would. Corrupting innocent souls is what drives some of us.»

Emma cocks an eyebrow. «And you are not driven by such desires?» It's stronger than her, she needs to know. Many wants her for her riches, many for her body, some for both, but mostly for her title. No one ever wanted her for her soul, corruptible or not.

The elf chuckles darkly. «Oh, love, my kin is corrupted by the Darkness itself, there is no way I don't want to corrupt your bright soul, to turn snuff out your light and turn you as dark as I am. But I also have obligations and a code I have to follow. Fear not, Princess, were I not an elf of my word, I wouldn't let you slip out of my sight and away for me until I truly consumed you.»

Her body is trembling, now. More than feeling it, she sees it in the way the water moves, creating circles all around her. Whether it's trembling with desire or fear, Emma is not sure. Both, she would say, because as appealing as dark elves are, they are dangerous still, and that danger is part of the reason why she's attracted already, even when all she can see are his clothes and the dark hair, because of the peril he represents.

Emma licks her lips, mouth suddenly dry. As tempted as she is of closing the distance between them, to tempt the darkness, Emma swims backwards, heeding his warning. She's not stupid, and as much as she wants to break the rules even just once, she knows she can't leave Misthaven without a ruler, no matter how appealing the threat of being consumed by him is.

Therefore, she swims back to Misthaven's shore, slowly though. Too slowly, because she hears a growl and then some shouts, forcing her to turn around. Her eyes widen at the fight that has broken on the other side of the lake.

All she manages to see is Killian punching another dark haired elf in the stomach, making him double over before pinning in to the tree, ringed fingers wrapping tightly around his opponent's neck in a grip that would've easily snapped every bone there if it'd been a simple mortal.

There's something beautiful in Killian's unrestrained fury. Emma forces herself to shake her head and find refuge beneath a weeping willow, her faithful horse still there browsing. As quick as she can, Emma retrieves her clothes, the thin shift clinging to her wet body. Her hands tremble as she laces up the front of her dress, not bothering with undergarments or a corset: she needs to get away from the lake as fast as possible.

Haphazardly throwing the thick cloak over her shoulders, Emma arranges her wet hair so it pools inside the hood, and she wouldn't even bother with the slippers if she weren't sure people would notice her lack of shoes instead of her wet hair.

Before she kicks her heels against Buttercup's flanks, Emma turns her head towards Killian, his hand still pinning the other dark elf to the tree but his eyes now on her, ordering and pleading her to run away at the same time.

The trail to lead her home may be in front of her as Buttercup galops towards the castle, but all she can see are blue eyes capturing her soul in their dark hold.

-/-

From then on, her nights are haunted by Killian Jones.

At first, it's only his presence lingering at the dark edge of her subconscious, but night after night he steps closer until Emma wakes up with strangled cries of ecstasy and her fingers caressing places she never dared explore before.

She dreams of being completely and utterly consumed by the dark elf who visits her bed every night.

If someone catches her drying off tears, they needn't know she's crying over her broken heart and a man she can never call hers.

-/-

The clicking sound of her heels is muffled by the increasing whispered chatter of her court, one she can't distinguish the words from, but knows it's serious.

Her subjects talk, they always do, but never quite like this. It makes her both wary and excited, a thrill running down her spine as her fingers curl around the heavy golden handle of one of the high doors leading to the throne room.

She's not announced, though she should have been once she notices there's a foreign delegation sporting a livery she doesn't know.

Everyone's eyes land upon her, the voices quietening the moment she steps into view.

Emma's attention, however, is still on the delegation standing in front of her parents' thrones, more precisely on their pointed ears.

Her eyes widen, and she's thankful for the vaporous skirts of her deep ruby red gown that conceal her trembling hands curled into fists.

None of the dark elves is Killian Jones.

Stupid, Emma scolds herself, trying to ignore the pang of sadness settling in her heart.

She barely notices her father nodding at her with a small smile, too confused by the thin line her mother's lips form.

«I'm confused,» Snow White begins carefully, words slow and voice steady as years of ruling over Misthaven and dealing with her peers over delicate matters have taught her, «I was under the impression that His Majesty the King had requested this meeting, yet I don't see him.»

An offense concealed as polite ignorance. Too bad elves, even dark ones, can read souls.

«I apologize for my tardiness, your Majesty.»

Emma's pulse quickens at the deep voice, each word dripping with politeness yet not a hint of regret.

He steps into the throne room and, ironically enough, it seems to brighten. He's clad in dark clothes melt entirely different from the ones he was wearing at the lake - though, to be completely honest, all Emma saw was his back.

The front, instead, has her breath catch in her throat. She doesn't dwell on the leather pants for too long, nor on the red velvet vest fastened over a dark shirt, nor on the patch of chest hair charms she feels the need to study closer are nestled upon, studying his face instead, from the nose perhaps a tiny bit too big to the way his ginger beard has the same colour of the sun reflecting on a goldfish's scales, from the pointed tips of his ears, clearly noticeable even from where she stands to the sinful way his full lips curl in a smile when his gaze falls on her.

It feels as if her body has been set aflame.

His eyes are the same blue that still haunts her dreams, her mind incapable of forgetting that peculiar shade of blue. Today, they don't hold a warning. Today, they are not covered by his hands and he doesn't turn away. Today, Killian Jones, King of the Dark Realm, holds her gaze, and everyone around them can see it.

Her attention is too focused on his eyes that she barely notices when he starts talking.

«I had to take a little detour to a meadow not far from the border. The middlemists are blooming, and there's no other place you will be able to see them. I merely thought it would be bad form if I showed up empty-handed.»

Suddenly, Emma knows what he wants. It's as clear as the sun, but it doesn't paralyze her in fear. Instead, she feels her heartbeat accelerate, almost excited.

She should stay as far away as possible from him, but she's drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

«Why should I accept your proposal?»

He cocks an eyebrow. «I haven't proposed, your Highness,» Killian retorts. «Not yet.»

«Why should I consider the possibility of a marriage with you, then? What good will it bring unite my kingdom to yours?»

She's not afraid of turning him down in public, it wouldn't be the first time she does so, not even when her parents push her to accept. Well, her mother does.

«Prosperity, for one. Both of our kingdoms would benefit of new trading courses expanding our borders would open for our merchants. People would have more opportunities to work a better job and perhaps they wouldn't be forced to leave their home for months to end. Trust can be built once more between our people, bring things as they once were before my ancestor fell prey of the Darkness.»

Emma bites back a sigh. She knows many centuries ago humans and dark elves could be considered friends, some more than that, and descendants of both species had been banished from both kingdoms. It would be more effective than the peace treaty they signed before her mother and father were even conceived.

«What about us?» she can't help but ask, bringing her eyes up to meet Killian's.

When she was very little and knew nothing of the world, Emma wanted to find a love like the one her parents have. Growing up, she discovered there was a good chance she would never experience love at all, not in with how Misthaven was faring, not when her mother claims to only want what is best for Emma. Only, the Queen is the one to decide what's best for her daughter.

Now, however, now Emma can see a chance to truly be happy.

Nothing moves or makes a sound as she awaits for his response, hoping deep inside that he would choose his next words smartly.

Killian flashes her another disarming smile, this one born out of affection. «The very reason why I haven't asked you for your hand is not a decision I've made only out of respect in your regards, your Highness.» Blue flames seem to burn in his irises with the intensity of a thousand suns. He steps closer, blatantly ignoring her parents, his attention solely on Emma. «Elves may not mate for life, Princess Emma, but we are not fools and don't trust easily. I need to know whether or not you are worthy of my heart and I of yours. Whatever we become is up to you as much as me.»

Emma wants to weep, she wants to launch herself at him and kiss him, to let him consume her as she knows he will, decorum be damned.

Instead, she smiles back at him, slightly trembling hand reaching to caress the delicate petals of the flower he holds between them. Her fingertips dance down the stem and over Killian's, the touch causing both of them to gasp quietly. Their eyes lock and he might have very well asked for her hand. Not that she'll make it easy for him to win her heart, just as she knows it won't easy for her to win his. Princess Emma never backed down in front of a challenge, and Killian Jones is surely be the most satisfying and complicate of all.

«Very well, your Majesty,» Emma breathes, loud enough for him to hear; if her subjects do, too, she does not care about, «I accept your courtship.»

-/-

They unofficially marry about two years later, stars and water the only witness they need to recite their vows waist deep in lake. It's spring, and all Emma wears is a crown of tangled middlemists Killian made for her.

No ring is exchanged, that will be done in a week's time when the ritual will tie their souls and destinies, with Emma accepting an immortal life next to Killian.

Tonight, exploiting his titles of King and Captain, Killian marries them in a more than private ceremony, their vows words coming from deep within their hearts and not ones they need to recite like an act.

Wet fingertips graze his jaw as he pulls his wife closer, body perfectly fitting against his as they kiss. One of his hands buries in her golden hair while the other one rests on her hip, squeezing lightly as if trying to make sure she's actually there and that he's not kissing a dream.

Killian moves backwards and, as always, Emma follows him, lips never leaving his.

The water level rises with every step until Killian brings her with him under the surface, darkness completely enveloping them as he promised her that day at the lake.

All that's left of their presence is the flower crown floating on water, the only light on a mirror of darkness.


End file.
